


The Undone and the Divine

by cerie



Category: Sanctuary (TV)
Genre: BDSM, D/s, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-28
Updated: 2011-12-28
Packaged: 2017-10-28 09:17:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/306329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cerie/pseuds/cerie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-"The Depths," Magnus and Will have a new way of relating to one another.  Established relationship, D/s.  Mentions of Carentan and Requiem.</p><p>Title courtesy of "Bedroom Hymns" by Florence + the Machine.  Written for emotionalcompass and 113years on Tumblr, because I cannot resist a challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Undone and the Divine

It’s not something that Will ever expects to put on his resume, not really. He’s not even sure how he’d describe it, what he does for her. It’s not sexual. Not entirely. It started out with no sex at all, actually, in the warm, safe bubble of Carentan when the days and nights were bathed with warm, golden light and the only thing delineating work and play was an arbitrary measure he made.

Maybe it started earlier. Maybe it started in her office, running scans and searching for a body that couldn’t be found, walking a perimeter to search for a girl who was neither dead nor alive. Maybe even earlier. Maybe it was when she’d tied him into a chair and straddled him, told him she wasn’t so common and that was just another secret for his little box.

Will doesn’t know when the lines shifted, changed. Will doesn’t know when he gained the power to calm Helen Magnus down with little more than a look and a press of his fingers against the inside of her wrist. It’s enough that when he does it now and applies a little pressure, her eyes widen and flash with something that shoots lightning down his spine.

Oh yeah. It’s sexual _now_. But that’s not all of it.

Magnus dismisses everyone and shuts down her computer terminal at lightning speed, Addison sputtering about being hung up on and the tension in the air is palpable. She’s got a secret. She’s had a secret ever since she showed back up and these little moments with her, stolen slices of time that never seem to fit anywhere else, they only serve to highlight how fractured she really is. Will can tell she wants to tell him, wants to let someone in on her secrets but she holds it back. Doesn’t want to affect the timeline. Doesn’t want to affect _them_.

He hopes someday she can sweat out her confessions under his body, nails writing her secrets out along the smooth lines of his back. If she can confess anything, it’s here, it’s when they do this.

It takes him a minute to find his voice and he just watches, watches as she leans her hip against her desk and folds her hands carefully in front of her. Demure, for the moment, and Will wonders how it’s going to play out today. Sometimes she likes to be good and likes to be told she’s good; Helen Magnus doesn’t need platitudes to thrive but sometimes she craves them and Will likes to give them to her. Sometimes, though, sometimes she needs it harsh. Sometimes she needs a swift, visceral reminder that while she may be the queen, the pawn can still hold her in check.

Will isn’t always the pawn anymore. But if he needs to be, he can be. For her. It’s always for her.

“Turn around. Palms on the desk.”

His voice doesn’t shake anymore. It used to, in Carentan. It used to shake when orders shifted from relax, get some sleep to spread your legs. It used to quiver when he didn’t quite know _if_ she’d listen. She listens now. Sometimes she protests, yeah, but it’s all token. She needs this and she knows he’s the only one who can give it to her without taking for himself. He’s the only one who can be selfless enough to make this about her even when he’s taking her from behind.

Will’s not that selfless. He just lets her think he is if it suits her.

It takes her a moment to turn and when she puts her palms against the desk, it’s tentative. It’s not what he wants and it doesn’t take long to press behind her, cock straining against his jeans and her skirt, and spread her hands wider and flatten them beneath his own palms. He pushes his weight against her, holding her in place, and when he’s sure she won’t move he moves back half an inch.

His jeans and boxers don’t take long to push down and they’re pooled around his ankles while he slides his hands up under her skirt. He thinks, for a moment, that he’ll pull her panties off and decides against it; in Carentan, there’d never been time to fully undress. They moved things out of the way, they improvised. It shouldn’t be any different here in the real world again.

He hooks his hand in gauzy lace and tugs, fabric rubbing against her clit and making her whimper and moan. She likes that, being used. She explained once that it makes it feel like she doesn’t _have_ to think any longer, especially if he’s making the decisions, and it’s a safe way for her to just escape. Once he knew, Will couldn’t get enough of giving her that escape and he gives it to her now, cock sliding along the crack of her ass just to tease and give her a little thrill.

His voice is harsh in her ear, “Do you need it?” and hers is soft in response. Call and answer, this prayer of theirs, and Will doesn’t know if it’s blasphemy or bliss. He suspects it’s more than a little of both. She’s wet already, the mental component is so much more than the physical with them, and his thrusts are shallow and simply slide against her cunt for a few moments before gliding in.

The sound she makes is indecent. It’s hot, hungry, raw and he craves it more than his next breath.

“You look so fucking wrecked right now,” he hisses, pressing her against the desk with every roll of his hips. She sways and spreads her thighs to get more leverage and on every pass, her panties slide against her folds and his cock, adding friction in a way that’s more accident than design but feels like heaven anyway. His hands are rough against her buttons, snagging at them and sending them pinging across the smooth, polished wood of her desk and he’s grateful the bra’s a front clasp he can undo with one hand.

His thrusts speed up as he cups one full breast in his hand, rolling her nipple between finger and thumb and when he pinches and she gasps, he does it again and again. He’s close but it’s not about him. It’s about her, about the release, about forgetting how to be Dr. Magnus and just being _Helen_ for a little while. She needs to get there before he can and that’s the only hard and fast rule about this: even when she submits to him, he is hers, utterly.

He’s fucked her enough times to know, now, that when her gasps go an octave up and her cunt tightens around his dick she’s close and all he has to do is push her down a little further, change that angle, and she’ll be screaming for him. She does scream, too, because it’s the pressure release they never got in Carentan, never got in the sub, never got down in the caves when they were chugging magic water and spewing vitriol at one another. It’s the release they can’t put in words but somehow is writ explicit in the way her cunt clenches around his cock and he comes in a white hot flash.

Their confessions are writ in sweat and the sweet-sharp flash of his teeth against the soft skin of her shoulder.

When he pulls away and turns her around, his eyes are softer and his thumb brushes against her lower lip. Hers are softer too, but only for a moment, and steel snaps down before he gets a chance to work his way beneath her guards.

 _Let me in,_ is his silent plea.

“In time, Will. It will all make sense in time.”

Call and response, but it’s hollow. Will just hopes their time hasn’t run out before he knows the score.


End file.
